


The Plan Never Comes Together

by TricksterGabe



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen, I guess Athos/d'Art if you wanna see it that way, cause undercover, d'Artagnan in a dress, unfinished but unlikely to be finished
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 05:36:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1293283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TricksterGabe/pseuds/TricksterGabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Constance gets annoyed at the musketeers constant deference to her feminine wiles so they are forced to find an alternative.</p><p>d'Artagnan in a dress. And Athos riding in on his white horse to save the day</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Plan Never Comes Together

**Author's Note:**

> Read at your own risk. It's not done but I'm not quite sure where to go with it. So I post hat I have.

“Absolutely not! She has done enough for us, we can’t ask her to go into a completely unknown household without a solid escape plan.” d’Artagnan was soon approaching yelling as he discussed their latest assignment with Porthos and Aramis at the Bonacieux’s table.

“She can handle herself, I’ve seen her in action.” Aramis says his tone light and eyes smiling. “While I do see your point I really think it is up to the Madame to decide, What harm is there in asking? And seeing as she likes you the best out of all of us it up to you to ask.”

“Not happening.” Constance says as she enters the room with a tray full of glasses and a bottle of wine. Ignoring the shocked look she continues, “Well you’re not quiet! Could hear d’Artagnan shouting from down the street I imagine.”

The three men stare at each other for a couple moments as Constance hands out the glasses and pours. “Well we could always pretend it’s you?” Three pairs of eyes widen and snap to Porthos. “Well not you you, but a woman?”

A slow smile spreads over Aramis’ face. “Well obviously it should be the youngest.” His eyes snap over to d’Artagnan as he slowly catches up to the conversation. Porthos is smiling already convinced of the idea, even constance seems to be amused by the thought.

“Wha -- but -- I mean wouldn’t it be more effective if the face was normally bearded? Then they would not have anything to compare it to?” d’Artagnan stammers out trying to avoid the inevitable outcome of the conversation.

“Well I’m obviously too manly for that.” Porthos says, “And good luck convincing Athos of any of it.”

“True you would make a hideous woman.” Aramis agrees easily. “And I am needed as a face of the Musketeers I’ll have you know. Could you imagine the disappointment on everyone’s face if I lost my look? No we best not risk it.” He walks over to stand behind d’Artagnan’s chair as he speaks.

“And that leaves you my friend.” He claps his hands down on his young companion’s shoulders as he turns his most charming smile to the quietly chuckling Constance “I’m sure Madame Bonacieux has a dress she is eager to donate to a worthy cause.”

The smile drops from Constance's face. "Wait what? No I'll have you know I need all of my dresses. I don't keep an extravagant closet.”

“I am sure that we could guarantee, if not the return of the dress, the funds to supply a new one.” Aramis reasons, “Besides we need your expertise if d’Artagnan is to pass as a woman. It’s going to take a woman’s touch.”

"Absolutely not! This is completely foolish and I won't give you any help." Constance collects her tray and leaves them to their planning. "Besides some of us have to leave the house to get their work finished." She says as she starts to assemble herself to go on errands. When she leaves Porthos swears he hears her mumbling about insane musketeers and their horrible plans that will wind up getting someone killed.

"Wait I know where she keeps her dresses, there is one I know she's been trying to get rid of. If we leave her enough money for a new dress she can't be too mad right?" d'Artagnan questions as he walks into another room. Missing the looks of disbelief that Porthos and Aramis shared.

"Of course not." Aramis in a small perplexed voice. "He has met Constance right? Or am I the only one she slaps?" Porthos’ amused chuckling greets d’Artagnan as he enters with a dress that both men recognize from Constance’s lady of the night impression, when they needed to infiltrate Gaudet’s camp back when they first met.

“She kept that?” Porthos asks. “Well why don’t you go put it on, and shave whatever it is you call that on your face off.” He says casting a critical eye over d’Artagnan’s appearance. The younger man looks as though he’s going to object but resigns himself to his fate.

Aramis sets about looking for some rouge and shoes for the Gascon to don upon his return.

 

~ ---~ Hours Later ~----~

 

D’Artagnan doesn’t quite remember how he got here. He’s in a basement, in a locked room, in chains, and in a dress. He almost thinks he’s going to wake up in his bed and the last 48 hours were the weirdest dream he’s had in a while. But it’s no dream he has the bruises to prove it. The once pristine dress now hangs oddly off d’Artagnan’s frame. He stares at his hands wondering when it all quite went south when he hears commotion outside the room. Fighting from the sound of it. d’Artagnan tries to get to his feet, quickly abandoning the effort as his ankle crumples beneath him.

The door bursts open as an armed and sweaty Athos bursts in, blue eyes frantically searching the room for any other threat. Seeing none he lowers his sword. “I thought I told you no more undercover operations,” he walks toward d’Artagnan hold out his empty hand. Abruptly stopping as he finally takes in d’Artagnan’s attire “What are you wearing?”

d’Artagnan colors eyes firmly anchored in his lap, making sure the shreds of the skirt keep what little dignity he has left covered. “It was Constance’s best dress”

“Why are you wearing Constance’s best dress?” Athos’ stance is rapidly relaxing as the ridiculousness of the situation starts to sink in.

“I had to get in, they wouldn’t trust a new man but were looking for a cook.”  d’Artagnan raises his eyes to Athos’ face noticing the amusement that’s starting to sneak into his expression. d’Artagnan’s color fades and and annoyance starts to seep into his voice.

“You couldn’t be a male cook?”

“It was Porthos’ idea!” d’Artagnan futilely exclaims.

Athos’ face takes on a half smile as he rolls his eyes, “Fine just get up and it’s time to go.”

D’Artagnan resumes the staring contest with his hands, “I can’t” he mumbles barely audible.

“I’m sorry, I thought I just heard you say you can’t?” Athos’ tone is conversational but sharp. “Did you decide you liked the view?”

“No, I ...I can’t stand. My ankle, I umm twisted it.” d’Artagnan’s face colors again. Athos’ smile falls away quickly as he kneels down to check if the ankle is worse off than a simple twist. Reassured he was only a bit battered and not permanently damaged Athos grabs d’Artagnan’s bound hands and slings the upper half of the gascon’s body over his shoulder. “WAIT STOP! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

“Quiet! I don’t know if we got everyone on the way in! Do you want me to have to fight with you on my shoulder?” Athos questions, one hand on the back of d’Artagnan’s thighs to stabilize the squirming man. “Unless you wanted to stay here? It would be a more leisurely walk out for me.” Athos ignores any protests that escapes the bound boy’s mouth as he makes his way back the way he came. “So d’Artagnan, how has Porthos managed to convince you that this was a good idea? Or did you convince him?”

d’Artagnan took as deep as breath he could while hanging over the back of Athos’ shoulder staring at his dagger’s sheath. “Well it was originally Aramis’ thought. That one of us could infiltrate the house using the cook’s opening. Porthos thought that our faces were too well known to pass as a common cook, and thought a woman would get in more easily, but Constance ruled out because it was too dangerous. I actually managed to get in with no real trouble. But I was startled and my voice slipped a bit, they saw through me after that. I managed to damage some but I twisted my ankle. And, yeah now you’re here. Why are you here?”

Athos continued his trek while listening to d’Artagnan, rapidly approaching a higher level of done with these idiots then he has ever felt. He finally reached the exit of the building, nodding at the musketeers rounding up the men in the house. He walked to a nearby bench to deposit d’Artagnan. “And how exactly did you manage to twist your ankle?” Athos asked, voice even.

“I may have tripped.” d’Artagnan’s face was a shame filled mask as he resolutely stared at the ground in front of him, trying to ignore the odd looks he was receiving.

“Tripped?” The question was spoke in a careful tone.

“Fighting in skirts is a bit different than I expected.” d’Artagnan’s eyes snapped to Athos’  as he heard a muffled noise in response to his confession. Confusion painted his face as he slowly realized that Athos was laughing at him. Fully laughing and trying to smother it behind his gloved hand, eyes dancing with mirth as he tries to get himself under control. “Well I’m glad my pain is a source of amusement for you.” d’Artagnan’s voice is wounded but his face is soft, happy he could amuse him somber mentor.

“Really d’Artagnan I thought we worked on the walking, you should have been able to make it out yourself.” Aramis’s voice calls out as he and Porthos join the two outside the house.


End file.
